


Sun

by corvidity



Category: Gintama
Genre: F/F, Fluff, I'm a sucker for happy endings, literally all of this is fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-07-26 05:27:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7562167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corvidity/pseuds/corvidity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So she raises her hand and wraps it around Hinowa’s. Falls and falls, and if this is what a fading night is like in person, she could just keep falling forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sun

**Author's Note:**

> I make my return to Gintama with the first pairing I ever wrote (a rarepair for the ages at that).

They are walking above ground, which is a sentence itself Tsukuyo never thought she’d be saying. _Above, sky, day._ They had semi-mythical meaning for the women of Yoshiwara. The only sun was Hinowa. The only solace was Hinowa.

But the true sun is warm and beats upon her head like a heartbeat, reminding her that it gives life – that there was life outside of the land of eternal night, no matter how faraway it seemed. Tsukuyo finds it unbearable at times, her cheeks flushing a plum red that wouldn’t look out of place on an autumn tree. Mostly, she puts it down to her lack of experience. She needs time to get used to the way her skin tingles with heat, falling down her back with the intensity of a fire but none of its bite.

She almost stops where she is, before regaining control of darker memories.

“Tsukki?” Hinowa asks, sensing her friend’s momentary lapse. “Are you feeling alright? If it’s too hot we can take a break and have some water.” She angles her head over her shoulder, eyebrows furrowed.

“Nah, it’s nothin’. Don’t worry about it. Y-You said you wanted to see the markets, right?”

“Well, yes, but if you’re not feeling well –”

“I’m fine.”

Tsukuyo ducks her head and pushes the wheelchair on with renewed purpose.

The streets are lined with stalls crammed next to each other, queues tangling together. People dressed in their Sunday best have flocked out with the good weather, thronging between the vividly-coloured displays. Buskers and hawkers advertise their wares in loud voices. Children, sensing the frazzled nerves of their parents, push them towards storefronts and display. “Buy me this!” they implore, until either one folds.

Hinowa watches one girl wheedle her mother into buying a taiyaki. Her eyes are round as she bites into it, and she breaks out into a red bean paste-smeared grin.

“We should bring Seita up one day,” Hinowa muses. “He’s been so busy lately with school and running the shop that he deserves a break. And the Yorozuya have been making time to see him so often, it’d be rude not to return the favour.”

The girl with the taiyaki licks the red bean paste from her fingers, blissfully oblivious to the world. Tsukuyo wonders what it would take for Hinowa to show the same self-indulgence. It’s not that she doesn’t admire Hinowa’s consideration, but the time for sacrifice has long passed. Yoshiwara is free, Seita is home, they can come and go as they please. And for all that, Hinowa gives and gives, from an infinite well of kindness that should, by all means, have been drained dry long ago.

Even then, it’s not as if the Yorozuya mind coming down to visit Seita. Shinpachi and Kagura drop by more frequently than Gintoki (if only because every time the silver-haired samurai steps foot into Yoshiwara he is mobbed by a horde of eager courtesans), and they enjoy teaching Seita about the outside world. They demand nothing in return; under Hinowa’s roof they are friends first.

(Broke friends who happily work their way through ten trays of refreshments, but friends all the same.)

“I think,” Tsukuyo begins, “That it ain’t a bad idea. Seita’s birthday is next week, right? We can bring him up then. Give him an allowance or something, so he can spend it on whatever he wants.”

Hinowa beams. “I’m glad you remembered! Coming above ground would be a wonderful present. I’m sure the Yorozuya would be happy to show him around; they were such a great help with his summer homework last time. The temple school teacher was so pleased with his progress she even dropped by to mention it the other day.”

They continue down the street, excited children rushing past. Their laughter is loud like bursts of fireworks, and Hinowa smiles to see them so happy; Tsukuyo blushes to witness these small moments. But she keeps her hand on the wheelchair steady, making sure to walk at a speed slow enough for Hinowa to take everything in.

They pass the crafts and artisanal stands, and end up in a square hosting a market. Around them are fruit stands, the smell of ripening fruit heavy in the air. It doesn’t help that so many of them are squashed together to the point that the scent borders on nauseating. Hinowa shows no sign that the smell affects her; she gasps in delight and laughs excitedly.

“Isn’t this wonderful?” she gushes. “Look at all the colours! And some of these fruits I’ve never seen before; we _have_ to buy something for Seita.”

Tsukuyo grunts in vague agreement. The stench isn’t the only thing that puts her off; the stall keepers are yelling over one another in an attempt to attract buyers, and she’s on the cusp of a headache. But one rumbling bass voice cuts through them all.

“Fresh oranges, the sweetest and best in all Kabukicho! Come get ‘em before they’re all sold out!”

Hinowa perks up. “Tsukki, over there,” she urges.

Tsukuyo obliges, rolling the wheelchair over to the stand from which the voice is coming. The man is holding a plate of orange slices, waving them left to right. “Ah!” he cries on spotting the two women. “Would either of you ladies care for a taste? Only the best oranges for the most beautiful ladies, of course.”

“Tsukki, don’t they look delicious?” Hinowa gushes. Tsukuyo coughs lightly. “I suppose,” she concedes. If she finds the above ground confounding and at times precarious, overlaid with a lattice of social norms and mannerisms that exist solely to ensnare her, Hinowa is entranced by the smallest of things – fragments of coloured light, the laughter of wind chimes in a passing breeze, and the sweetness of fresh oranges, edged with just enough pith and rind.

“Don’t be shy, try one!”

Hinowa smiles, and gracefully picks up a slice. Her movements are a courtesan’s, fluid and flowing, performing femininity in a way that Tsukuyo has long renounced. She takes the slice anyway, not quite knowing what she’s meant to do. They’d had oranges in Yoshiwara, of course, but she’d never much acquired a taste for them.

“The first crop of the season,” the storekeeper declares, puffing his chest out. “If that one isn’t sweet, you can have another until you get one that’s sweet. My guarantee.”

Slowly, Tsukuyo eats the orange slice. It is sweeter than the oranges she had underground, juicier too, and cold enough that they must have been well refrigerated before making their way to the fruit stand.

“How is it?” Hinowa asks, having finished her piece. 

“It’s – it’s good,” Tsukuyo replies, and is surprised at how much she means it. Different to what she’s used to, but still good.  

Hinowa beams. “These were delicious,” she tells the shopkeeper. “I’ll take three, please. Seita would love to try some, right, Tsukki?”

Tsukuyo swallows the last of the orange, and eyes the remaining pieces with a little less hostility than before. “Yeah, he likes – he likes sweet things.”

“And these are much healthier than those sweets he thinks I don’t notice.”

Before Tsukuyo knows it, they’re off again, and the bag of oranges is nestled in Hinowa’s lap. She can still taste the orange, crisp and bright as the sunlight glinting off the pins in Hinowa’s hair, and she feels the warmth creeping up her cheeks again.

*

They linger awhile longer at the market; what feels like hours to Tsukuyo is not enough time for Hinowa. And although her feet are starting to ache she bears with it, because the woman in the wheelchair can no longer walk. She will walk Hinowa’s share if she has to; will drag her feet through a desert repenting for not being able to protect her.

“Are you tired, Tsukki? You’ve been pushing me around all day without a break. We can sit down at one of those cafés, if you like.”

Tsukuyo blows out a stream of dismissive smoke, waving her hand around. “Nah, I’m not that tired. We can stay until the markets close.”

The sun is dipping just below the horizon when Hinowa decides to call it a day, suggesting they head back to Yoshiwara in time for dinner with Seita.

The lanterns are aglow with ethereal light as they descend to what was once the city of night; the shadows softer around the edges, the smiles of the courtesans a little less dour. They greet her and Hinowa with genuine warmth, waving from their posts as they pass. Business is light, and the streets are empty, though Tsukuyo knows that the witching hour will bring with it the hordes of customers that keep Yoshiwara going.

For the moment there are only a few curious tourist-type onlookers, probably having wandered down to see for themselves the legendary Yoshiwara, now free of Hosen. His presence had been more than a shadow; closer to an oil slick that had suffocated the town. Without him the narrow streets seem wider and longer; without him the women dare to laugh openly, in jest and in scorn.

“Hinowa nee-san!” one of the younger courtesans near trips over her kimono as she comes running up to the pair. Tsukuyo halts the wheelchair with a grunt. If there’s one thing she dislikes about the change, it’s that Hinowa is even more of a magnet for attention and admiration than before.

The girl implores Hinowa for some of her time to teach the younger ones how to braid their hair (“you promised us last week!”), at which Hinowa suggests tomorrow. “I have plans tonight, Sayura,” she smiles. Sayura, though a child, manages to look even more childish as she pouts. Tsukuyo barely disguises her eye roll. But she lets Hinowa offer Sayura a few more reassurances, a pat on the head, and even a brief hug before she runs off.

Tsukuyo keeps the wheelchair moving, deciding it better not to comment on that episode. But Hinowa is shamelessly sharp, and she picks up on her friend’s discontentment in a heartbeat.

“I’d almost think you were jealous of all the attention I’m getting,” Hinowa starts teasingly. A bit of light banter to loosen up the atmosphere never hurt.

Tsukuyo scoffs. “Nah, not really. Better you than me. I mean, you’ve always been better at this kind of thing than me. The Hyakka are ‘bout all I can handle. But kids?” she shakes her head. “No way.”

“Except Seita,” Hinowa gently corrects, though it doesn’t feel like an admonishment at all.

“I dunno about that, you know what happened the last time I tried teaching him Japanese history…”

“And I joined in the irresponsibility at the end,” Hinowa reminds her. “But that isn’t what’s bothering you, is it?”  

“Nothin’s bothering me.”

Her discomfort shouldn’t be any of Hinowa’s concern, as much as Hinowa wants it to be. She regrets her earlier sullenness, trying to think of a way to explain that everything is in fact well, and that there’s nothing to worry about.

“You know you were never a good liar.”

Again, there is nothing like reproach in Hinowa’s voice, nothing that hints at ill will or anger. It should be impossible for someone to be so unfailingly kind, and Tsukuyo’s heart clenches. Hinowa’s kindness was what made the long night bearable, and at the same time, intolerable, given what Hosen had done to her and Yoshiwara. 

“Did I spend too long at the markets this afternoon?” she asks. “I’m sorry if I made you walk all over without a break. The next time we go back up –”

Tsukuyo interrupts brusquely. “It’s not that. I just wish –”

But she doesn’t know how to best say, _I wish you would be more selfish._ All coherent thought goes out the window anyway when Hinowa reaches up and places her hand over Tsukuyo’s, touch gentle in a way that only Hinowa can be.

Her heart lurches sideways, stomach with it. The wheelchair comes to a complete halt. The crowds thinned out long ago, and now it’s only them and disembodied street lights, shining so brightly she can’t make out where they’re coming from.

“Hinowa,” Tsukuyo can barely utter her name; it rumbles through her chest, makes it ache, “Ya know, it’s… it’s really nothin’. Forget about it.” A note of pleading enters her voice.

“Are you sure?”

“Y-yeah, of course. Anyway, Seita will be wondering where we are, right?”

Her attempt to steer the conversation from dangerous waters is surprisingly effective, and Hinowa allows the matter to drop.

*

Seita is waiting for them at the door of their house, waving a lantern as he sees them come into view. “Mum, Tsukki! Welcome home!”

“I smell something wonderful,” Hinowa exclaims, good humour back in place. “Your cooking must have improved, Seita!”

“If it ain’t burnt it’s an improvement. Doesn’t mean it’ll be edible.”

Seita blanches, then colours at Hinowa’s light giggle. “Tsukki, don’t tease him like that. It’s good that he’s learning something new. And as far as I recall, your cooking hasn’t had the best reviews.”

Tsukuyo hmphs, neither denying nor confirming Hinowa’s words. The wheelchair bumps over the threshold with a creak. Seita hurries to close the shoji, a wisp of wind playing across his hair. On her way past, Tsukuyo raises a stiff hand and places it on his head. He stills, momentarily confused, and Tsukuyo wishes that she were gifted with even the tiniest portion of Hinowa’s natural sociability. “Yeah, well,” she says gruffly. “Good on ya, kid.”

“Uh, th-thank you!” Seita goes certifiably scarlet, and is about to rush off to the kitchen when Hinowa stops him.

“Here you go.” She lifts the bag of oranges from her lap and hands it to him. “Put these in the fridge would you? We’ll have them after dinner. I’m sure you’ll love them, Seita, they’re so sweet and juicy.”

Seita’s cooking _has_ improved, though Tsukuyo wouldn’t tell him in Hinowa’s presence. It’s probably half her fault that he’s had to learn. And it’s not like she feels _guilty_ or anything. Only, that she wishes she’d paid more attention to the other women when they offered to teach her.

“So…. Is my cooking any good?” Seita looks mostly at Hinowa, like a puppy awaiting praise.

“Wonderful,” Hinowa assures him. “Certainly an improvement on your first attempt. I’m so proud to see that you’re growing up into such an independent and responsible young man.” Seita radiates happiness, and even Tsukuyo smiles a little.

“In fact,” Hinowa goes on, “Miss Maki told me the other day that your grades have never been better.”

If Hinowa praises him anymore, Tsukuyo suspects Seita will implode.

“And it so happens your birthday is next week! What do you say to a trip above ground? We can go see the Yorozuya, visit some markets, do whatever you like for a whole day.” 

“Really?” Seita can hardly sit still. “Oh man, it’ll be so good to see Uncle Gintoki and the others again!”

Hinowa pats his head. “Just remember to do your chores this week, or I might reconsider.” She punctuates her warning with a stern glare, which Seita answers with a wide grin.

“Oi, you heard your mother, didn’t you?” Tsukuyo barks, pointing her pipe at him. “Chores and homework this week, or you’re not getting your birthday present.”

“W-what? Mum, you didn’t mention homework!”

“Well, now that Tsukki’s mentioned it, I think she has a point.” Hinowa affects a contemplative air, hand stroking her chin as if in deep thought. But the sparkle in her eyes betrays her, and Tsukuyo knows Seita is safe. Not that _he_ knows it yet.

“But, but, I’ve been doing all my homework and handing it in on time! M-u-u-um, Tsukuyo nee-san just wants to make me suffer!”

“But it was Tsukki who had the idea, so to be fair she should be able to set the conditions.”

Hinowa conceals her growing smile with the sleeve of her kimono; only Tsukuyo sees and returns it just as surreptitiously. Seita lets out a melodramatic wail and turns to his sister figure. “Please, can I not do the homework? It’s history homework again and you know how much I hate it… I can do it after my birthday though, please?”

Tsukuyo snorts, and taps out the ashes from her pipe. “Ask yer mother.” 

Hinowa’s smile this time is mischievous, something Tsukuyo wishes she could see more of. Back then Hinowa had never been as daring or openly affectionate with anyone.

“Alright, well…” Hinowa seems to come to a hard-thought decision. “No homework, only chores. But Tsukki will keep an eye on you to make sure you’re doing _everything._ ”

“Ya got that right.” Tsukuyo smirks. Cutting as her tone is, she admits her soft spot for Seita. Though it isn’t as if she’d admit it openly. He nods like a fortune cat’s arm, clearly intent on keeping his word.

“I won’t let you down!” he declares.  

Hinowa laughs softly. “Now that that’s settled, Tsukki, could you get the paring knife? Seita, go fetch the oranges from the fridge, please.”

Tsukuyo picks up the empty plates without needing to be asked and moves after Seita, who yells “on it!”, enthusiasm already bubbling over. He flings open the fridge door. “Woah, these are heavy!” he exclaims, bundling the oranges to his chest.

“Careful you don’t drop ‘em,” Tsukuyo warns, dumping the dirty dishes in the sink before fishing for a knife in one of the drawers.    

Hinowa reaches for the knife and an orange as soon as both are at her disposal, and unthinkingly, Tsukuyo snatches the orange first. Bemused, Hinowa asks, “What’s the matter? Are you that hungry you’d eat it whole, skin and all?”

“N-no, I…” Tsukuyo trails off. She eyes the knife in Hinowa’s hand, feels the warmth of Seita’s meal in her stomach. “I can cut it up pretty quickly,” she says. Hinowa seems happy to indulge her odd turn in behaviour, and passes over the knife.

Indeed, Tsukuyo makes quick work of the rind. It spirals away from the flesh in seconds, and the fragrant, sweet scent of oranges blooms. With another few deft strokes, the orange lies in slices on the plate.

“Ah, you’re always so good at cutting stuff up,” Seita says admiringly.

Tsukuyo shrugs at the praise; does the same to the other two oranges, and passes one plate each to Hinowa and Seita.  

Orange juice dribbles down her chin despite her best efforts, and Tsukuyo has to stop it dripping onto her kimono with an awkward hand as she reaches for a tissue. Hinowa, of course, has broken each slice into even smaller pieces, which she scoops up and deposits into her mouth with the kind of finesse Tsukuyo can only dream of.

Seita stares suspiciously at the fruit. The sight of anything ‘healthy’ reminds him of bento boxes and emergency trips to the hospital.

“It ain’t gonna eat you,” Tsukuyo reassures him. She snatches a tissue and wipes her mouth. “And it’s definitely better for ya than all the parfaits and sweets Gintoki smuggles in.”

Seita goes an interesting shade of red, colour draining out just as quickly. He stuffs the orange slices into his mouth one after the other, and Tsukuyo can pinpoint the exact moment he realises how good they are.  

“Mmm – where did you buy these? They’re so sweet!” Seita looks down at his disappointingly empty plate. He casts an unsubtle look at the unfinished orange slices on Hinowa’s plate.

“The markets,” she says. “Tsukki and I were just exploring today, and we happened across a lovely storekeeper and his oranges.” As she speaks she begins to move her remaining orange pieces to Seita’s plate, whose mouth is watering.

Tsukuyo snorts, and with the swiftness that comes from years of practice, leans over to slide the new pieces towards her. “Okay, slow down,” she suggests. Hinowa gives her another bemused look. Tsukuyo huffs. “And calm down. Did ya really think I’d do that to ya, Seita?”

His crestfallen look says it all. She sighs. “Here,” and pushes her unfinished orange slices at him. “Take mine instead, and let Hinowa finish hers.” Tsukuyo passes the rescued oranges back to her friend, who giggles as she accepts them.

“You’re too thoughtful,” she says. “Thank you, Tsukki.”

*

A week later and Tsukuyo is roused from her sleep by what can only be Seita’s excited cries. There’s a bang and a muffled curse, and then her door virtually skates off the rails.

“Tsukki!” he yells, running circles around her futon. Tsukuyo blearily rubs her eyes and gropes for her kunai. If he’s so excitable as to barge into her room on a Sunday morning without fear of reprisal, then he’s got another thing coming.

“Look at what mum gave me!” Seita manages to come to a stop at the end of the futon. In his fist is a small red envelope, flashes of a gold design catching the morning light. His brown eyes are glimmering too, with tears or joy it’s hard to tell.

Tsukuyo is reminded sharply that this is the first birthday Seita has had with them – Hinowa, herself, all the women of Yoshiwara – and her grip slackens on the kunai under her pillow. Besides, Hinowa would have her hide if she threw anything sharp at the birthday boy.

She stretches instead, and settles on a half-grumpy scowl. “Yeah, alright, alright, I see. Ya got lots of money. Now scram, I gotta get changed.”

Looking none the happier, Seita skips out. It doesn’t take long for Tsukuyo to pull on her usual garments, grab her pipe, and then hurry to Hinowa’s room. She’s already sitting at the dresser combing her hair, one of the younger courtesans helping her do it up.

Tsukuyo thinks there’s something familiar about the girl, and then Hinowa says, “Now Sayura, place the strand on your left over the centre – oh, Tsukki!”

She beams widely, and motions for Tsukuyo to sit down.

“Lady Tsukuyo,” Sayura bobs her head, then goes back to braiding Hinowa’s hair. When Sayura finishes (after a few mistakes and gentle prodding), she bows and pads out.

“I wasn’t expecting you so early,” Hinowa says, fiddling with a strand of hair that has come loose. “I was hoping you’d be able to sleep in today, so I called Sayura to help me. She’s been asking for more practice in braiding. But I suppose Seita had other plans.”

“Barrelled in without even knocking,” she confirms. Privately, she marvels that Hinowa would think of her on Seita’s birthday, and even give the young courtesan a lesson in braiding. Too much kindness, perhaps. Hinowa laughs softly, then turns to Tsukuyo.

“Well, how do I look?”

_Beautiful, as always._ But she can’t help but feel there’s something missing. Eyes falling to the dresser, Tsukuyo picks out two golden pins. “You’re not wearing those?” she points to them.

Hinowa gasps. “Goodness, I’d forgotten. Oh, but Seita will be getting impatient.” Right on cue, he hollers from down the hallway.

“When are we going?”

“Soon!” Hinowa calls back. “Tsukki, could you help me put them in?”

“I – uh, yeah.”

Seita calls again. Tsukuyo’s mouth goes dry but she picks up the delicate pins anyway, and narrowing her eyes, carefully parts Hinowa’s hair to slide the first one into position. She’d done the same thing as a child, though once she began working with the Hyakka she’d spent more time throwing kunai at target boards than doing up hair.

Her fingers have memory though, working nimbly to ensure the second pin is locked in Hinowa’s hair. It’s soft (of course it is), slipping over her knuckles. Tsukuyo grips the pin, feels its edges biting into her skin as she wriggles it into place. She hasn’t taken a breath since starting, and neither has Hinowa.

“There,” she eventually croaks. Stepping back, she realises how warm the room is. Her heart is beating heavily, and even Hinowa’s cheeks are a light shade of pink.

“Well… can’t keep Seita waitin’!” she tries for cheer, and winces internally. Hinowa allows a light smile to dust her lips as they set off.    

*

It’s up to Seita to lead the way once they get above ground. He’s more familiar with Kabukicho than his mother and sister, so both of them assume he knows exactly where he’s going. Sort of. They come to a stop outside a clothing store, the dummies in the window display decked out in Amanto and Japanese style finery with price tags that even the Shogun might think twice about before paying.

Hinowa, for once, looks somewhat doubtful. “Seita, if you wanted to try on dresses I would’ve lent you some…” she starts.

“Er, no, no, it’s nothing like that!” Seita tugs out his red envelope. “I know it’s my birthday, but I wanted to do something for both of you,” he explains. “I mean, it’s the first year since Uncle Gintoki kicked Hosen’s – um,” he coughs, “since he kicked Hosen out, and you’ve been so busy helping me and teaching me, so I just thought it’d be nice if I got you something…” the more he talks, the quieter his voice becomes. Seita eventually trails off, lobster red in the face. If there’s anything he’s inherited from his sister-mother, it’s Tsukuyo’s inability to express herself.

Understanding her son’s intentions, Hinowa shakes her head. “Thank you Seita, you’re far too kind. But I have nothing I need at the moment, so you’d best spend that money on something you want.”

She clears her throat, throwing a glance at Tsukuyo. “Uh, yeah,” she mumbles. “Buy all the lollies ya want, Seita. I won’t get mad, I promise.”

“B-but…!” He waves the envelope around. “I really want to get you something. Even if it’s small.”

“You’re already enough of a gift,” Hinowa tells him, and the way she says it, her voice firm with the knowledge of how she lost him once, Tsukuyo knows she means every word. Seita flushes pink.

“Uh – well… something small,” he repeats, no less determined. Takes after his mother, Tsukuyo supposes. She blows an absent stream of smoke away from the pair. Seita is still pleading and Hinowa is insisting that the money should be spent on something he likes.

Eventually, Hinowa sighs. “Alright, Seita. Here’s the deal. We go to the markets and you buy yourself something. If there’s any money left – and don’t feel as if you have to buy the cheapest thing – then Tsukki and I will take it and get something for ourselves. How does that sound?” 

He screws up his nose but nods. “Okay…”

“Good. Let’s stop dallying here and go,” Tsukuyo says.

*

The markets are as bustling as last time, and Seita wastes no time rushing from stall to stall in his pursuit of the best gift his money can buy (while leaving enough for his mother and sister). To no one’s surprise, he ends up with a bag of candy so large he totters under its weight. In one hand he clutches a bunch of bills and coins, which he gives to Hinowa.

“See, I got plenty of change! Now you can go get whatever you want!”

“Thank you, Seita. But you’d be so bored coming with us, so why don’t we drop you off at the Yorozuya first? When Tsukki and I finish we’ll pick you up.”

Seita frowns. “Are you sure?”

“We can stay a little while.” Hinowa’s smile turns sly, and she sends Tsukuyo a knowing glance. “I’m sure Tsukki would love to catch up with Gintoki.”

Tsukuyo nearly goes into a coughing fit, and her cheeks flame red in indignation rather than embarrassment. Sure, Gintoki saved Yoshiwara and killed Hosen – killed Jiraia too – and she admires him as a child would their television hero. But without Hinowa there wouldn’t have been anything to save.  

The visit to the Yorozuya goes well enough – Tsukuyo only throws two kunai at Gintoki, both of which hit him dead in the forehead, then Shinpachi and Kagura take Seita to Otose’s snack bar for some (assuredly non-alcoholic) drinks and snacks.

“Don’t worry about me!” he calls, waving confidently. “You guys just have fun, okay?”

Leaving a grumbling Gintoki behind to wrap his head in bandages, they set off for the market district once more.

It doesn’t take long for them to stop at a boutique to peruse the kimonos on the sales rack. Tsukuyo, not wanting to appear clueless, makes a grab for the nearest one that catches her unaesthetically-trained eye. It’s dark red, embroidery tracing out a trail of flowers across the bodice.

“Wouldn’t this look good on you?” she suggests blithely. Hinowa will probably tease her for having such terrible taste. But to her surprise, she eyes it thoughtfully.

“Do you really think so?”

Tsukuyo shrugs helplessly. She wasn’t a courtesan, and although she likes to think she has some sense of fashion, it’s Hinowa who really knows these things.

“Y-you should know, right?”

Hinowa’s eyes crinkle with amusement. “And you picked it. Have some more faith in yourself, Tsukki. You know what you’re doing, too.”

Tsukuyo fumbles with her pipe and mutters something unintelligible. Her heart is caught in her mouth, could be impaled on the deep maroon fabric of the kimono. “Well, you know, anything looks good on you.”

Hinowa laughs again, gold flashing against black, and Tsukuyo feels herself slipping even further. “Let me try it on, and then we’ll see.”

With some help from the shop assistant, she gets the kimono on. (“No, Tsukki, I want to surprise you! So stay out there.”) She eventually emerges from the fitting room in her wheelchair, and calls to attract Tsukuyo’s attention.

“This is one of the most comfortable kimonos I’ve worn,” Hinowa remarks. “But how does it look?”

Tsukuyo coughs. “Really good,” she says weakly. The red fabric has an unearthly quality, as if it gathers all light to it and illuminates the figure within. Against Hinowa’s dark hair it shimmers, falls over her body without taking anything away from her soft lines and shadow; flowers winding their way up her waist and chest to end at her collarbone.

“R-really good.”

Tsukuyo feels rather light-headed. The only word that comes to mind is _radiant,_ that Hinowa’s smile is the only thing brighter than the kimono. She isn’t sure if she’s loved Hinowa this much, when she is overflowing with joy and so vividly alive. Despite everything, she is here. _Here,_ in all her personage, and Tsukuyo manages a watery smile from behind damp eyes.

She’d fought to protect Hinowa’s happiness in that hellish night; the thread of that hope wrapped so tightly around her throat she would have risked her life no matter what it took to bring the sun back. To bring Hinowa back. Under Hosen’s rule she’d almost withered into the darkness she was meant to keep at bay, but now –

Tsukuyo feels Hinowa’s joy as her own, her light; the debris of her guilt is washed away by that smile (even if for a few hours), fades into cracks filled with gold and the sediment of a past they ground into dust together.

“Tsukki?”

“I’m fine,” she mumbles, rubbing her eyes. “Never been better.”

They leave the shop with a fistful of coins. The storekeeper, on seeing Hinowa’s delight, had offered a ten percent discount, which now jangles in Hinowa’s hands. She grins up at Tsukuyo. “You know where we’re going now, don’t you?”

Tsukuyo snorts in amusement. “Make sure you buy enough for Seita.”

And it is with a small bag of oranges that they return to the Yorozuya.

*

Seita is still in one piece when they pick him up, so Tsukuyo can’t fault Gintoki for neglecting his duties as child minder. Kagura gives him a piece of sukonbu for the road, and Shinpachi ruffles his hair fondly. Then with afternoon falling, they head back below.

Seita chatters non-stop about the things they got up to, and Hinowa lends him a patient ear. Tsukuyo nods along, mostly for any information she can use as blackmail on Gintoki the next time they meet. When Seita’s tales run dry, Hinowa tells him about her and Tsukuyo’s day, even showing him the bag which contains the kimono.

Before making it five steps into Yoshiwara they cross paths with some of the temple school children. At Hinowa’s nod, Seita goes running off with them. “I’ll be back in, like, ten minutes!” he calls.

Tsukuyo pushes the wheelchair along, marvelling at how light she feels. Then they pass a familiar building, and her stomach drops. As one of the few structures gutted by the flames, it looms over the streets like an ashen smudge, a physical reminder of events not too long gone. The balcony where Hinowa had sat is all that is recognisable; though the railings are melted into one another, charred and twisted, the shape remains.

Tsukuyo hurries to pass it, putting on a burst of speed. It doesn’t go unnoticed, and as always, Hinowa discerns the cause.

“Tsukki” she slowly says, “You know I’m not up there anymore.” Not on the balcony and not in the sky, casting a light that is both achingly distant and close at the same time. “I’m not going to fall.”

_Not anymore._

Tsukuyo can taste oranges; almost chokes on how bright the sunlight is. Her fingers tighten on the wheelchair handles, knuckles white with exertion. Seita, who has by now been thoroughly fêted by his friends, returns. “Mum? Sis? Why’re you so slow?”

“It’s nothin’,” Tsukuyo manages. “Let’s go home.”

*

In the evening shadow it is hard to make out Tsukuyo’s lithe form standing at the entrance to the balcony. She toes the edge of the moonlight, figure indistinct and smoky. Hinowa rolls her wheelchair over.

“I’m glad Seita enjoyed himself today,” she says.

Tsukuyo nods fuzzily. “Me too.”

“You’re a good sister to Seita, you know. A good friend and mother too.”

“Eh?” Tsukuyo whips her head to stare at Hinowa, blonde hair slipping out of her bun. “What – what makes you say that?”

“He loves you,” Hinowa states. “Isn’t that enough reason?” She gazes up at Tsukuyo, moonlight falling across her face. “Come here.”

And even the head of the Hyakka cannot refuse.

Quietly, softly, the shadows are treading in the moon and the light is spilling over. Tsukuyo sighs, and lowers herself onto the couch beside Hinowa’s wheelchair. She reaches up to stroke her scars, running the pad of her thumb along the puckered skin. Hinowa has the lightest touch, but still, Tsukuyo shivers. Her tongue is too knotted and she doesn’t trust herself to speak.

So she raises her hand and wraps it around Hinowa’s. Falls and falls, and if this is what a fading night is like in person, she could just keep falling forever. The sun has long gone down, but her hand is warm and safe; her home and family too.

For the first time in too long, Tsukuyo breathes a little easier. Those haunted nights are only echoes of memory, of flames that die before reaching her. She leans into Hinowa, breathing in her soft fragrance and relishing her warmth, wondering vaguely why she smells so much like oranges.

It’s fortunate that what she lacks for in words Hinowa understands; can read the devotion in Tsukuyo’s palm, squeezes it in gentle affirmation. Hinowa pulls back, cold air rushing in to take her place.

“You’ve been tense over the last week,” she whispers. “Don’t think I didn’t notice.” She puts a finger to Tsukuyo’s lips, silencing her reply. “Don’t apologise. Just relax.”

Huffing, she complies.

“I know you think I’m too selfless sometimes, but you’ve also made your share of sacrifices.” Again, Hinowa’s fingers ghost over the scars. “It’s because of you that I can be so kind, Tsukki. You trusted me, believed in me, even when they took Seita away. I can only give away what you gave me.”

Tsukuyo cannot bring herself to move. Her own failings loom before her eyes, but Hinowa fills her vision, her hand still unfailingly warm. “I’m here,” she says. Carefully, she loosens Tsukuyo’s hair from its ties and cards her fingers through it, the warp and weft of the evening light weaving a pattern of shadowed silk.

“You should let your hair down more often.”

“R-really?” is about all Tsukuyo can bring herself to say.

But Hinowa only hums, and says nothing more.   

Tsukuyo’s heart settles back into a quiet rhythm. A strange sense of calm washes over her; a contentment she’s rarely known runs through her body, like an ocean that rises and falls with the moon, and stars that beckon her towards them. Another hand is wrapped around her heart, and though it should be suffocating, she feels it rising in her throat, fragile and fluttering but never more certain.

Hinowa’s fingers continue to draw through her hair, running along her scalp. Tsukuyo closes her eyes and breathes in again. The world she never imagined is unfolding as she watches, and for once, she is not caught up on capricious tides that carry her far from what she wants. Were this world to vanish, she would not be surprised. She’s tasted enough loss, the copper tang and futility; knows how hoping for hope will strangle her with the force of her conviction if she isn’t careful.

But this is real enough for the moment, and she isn’t letting go.

“You don’t need to hold my hand forever,” Hinowa smiles, amusement curving her lips up. Tsukuyo sputters a half apology and makes to tug her hand away, only to be thwarted by a surprisingly strong grip.

“But,” comes in a whisper, fainter and rustling and emerging from the night like a moth, “I’d like you to. Just until sunrise. I can be selfish too, you know, terribly so when it comes to the people I love.” 

Tsukuyo’s heart beats almost painfully in her chest, and she can feel her cheeks going as red as if she’d drunk an entire bottle of sake. But everything is too vivid to forget: the quickening of Hinowa’s pulse, the darkening earth and night sky, the knowledge that she is not alone shining and singing in her veins.

There’s forever until sunrise, and Tsukuyo knows how to wait. She is patient; she has time and sickle moons and the orange rind of a rising sun ahead of her. Ahead of them. Their fingers are entwined and she closes her eyes, light dancing behind her eyelids.


End file.
